Wrong Address
by Lady Hallen
Summary: Harry gets a letter due to a typographical error. It says, "Dear Satan"
1. Chapter 1

**Wrong Address**

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* * *

Harry stares at the letter with bemusement.

"Huh, that's new," he murmurs

The skeleton guard beside his throne twitch nervously. Harry resists the urge to glare at them since that made the twitching worse.

"A mistake in the mail, sire?" the sensible succubus asks.

Harry smiles, which makes everybody in the throne room nervous.

"No. It's a little girl who's asking for a puppy."

Everybody in the throne room actually looks incredulous. Harry doesn't show it but he agrees. He still glares at all of them for staring.

With the clank-clank, the twitching resumes. Harry wants to sigh. Bones hitting and grinding against each other are so _noisy._

"Syrena, do we have a newborn hellhound?" he asks instead.

Syrena – the succubus, tilts her head and thinks. "Hallows Eve has recently passed, sire. The hellhounds have given birth two weeks ago."

Two weeks is long enough. Harry stands up and waves the skeletons to stay.

The problem with staying in the underworld is that if you stay there long enough, the taint of it would start to cling to you and change you. Harry made sure to never stay there longer than three weeks. A newborn hellhound would still be safe to put in a child's arms.

"There," he says, picking up the smallest of the lot. It was likely the runt of the litter, easily pushed aside by its brothers. It was still bigger than any puppy should be. "You will do, I suppose."

The puppy hound gave him a look. _'How may I serve, sire?'_ Harry heard in his mind.

Harry just smiles at the puppy, cradling him to his chest. The mother hound gives him a dismissive look when she sees who he has taken. "There's a little girl in the mortal world who asked for a companion," he explained. "And you are perfect."

' _Is the girl going to bring about the destruction of the mortal world?'_ the puppy asks eagerly.

Syrena stifles a laugh.

"No," Harry deadpans. "Well, hopefully…." He doesn't finish his sentence. Hopefully not, he wants to say, but his companions would misunderstand.

Three years into ruling the underworld and he still finds the concept of mayhem and death a bit disconcerting.

"Hopefully, she will make chaos and destruction reign supreme," Syrena says slyly.

Harry resists the urge to scowl at her. She knows his personal feelings on the matter.

' _Hopefully, it will be soon,'_ the puppy sighs longingly. ' _It would be glorious to be part of that.'_

Hopeless, the lot of them.

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* * *

On Christmas eve, a little girl who accidentally wrote to Satan instead of Santa, got a hellhound for her present.

It is part of the magic, of course, that has the eyes of her parents sliding off the puppy – who gets renamed Herbert. Herb for short.

Mayhem and destruction does occur and the underworld suddenly has a new surplus of sinners, mostly people who didn't resist the urge to curse and maim an energetic child. An energetic child, who grew to be one of the most chaotically good person the world has ever seen, enabled and encouraged by her hellhound companion.

Harry will try not to be too smug. It certainly wasn't his idea.

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 **Lol.**

 **Reviews please.**

 **~hallen**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Guardians finally hear about a wrongly addressed letter**

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* * *

None of them notices it until Pitch is defeated.

In the heat of battle, it is difficult to notice the details. Like how Cupcake's dream sand usually took the form of unicorns. Or how many egg bots Bunny summoned. Or how absolutely strange (delightful!) it was to see children charging at black, menacing nightmare sand without fear.

Still, Jack notices it because one of the children rides the largest dog he had ever seen in his life.

"Wow, it's big what _is that_?!" Jack says. He will insist to his dying day that he did not squeak.

All the other guardians turns to see what has him so shocked and all of them, to a person, jump.

"Yikes!" Bunny yelps, jumping high enough to land on top of one of his egg bots. He stays there. North gives a vehement curse in Russian and scrabbles for his swords. Tooth goes up. She stays up too.

Only Sandy drifts closer, curiosity on his usually placid, golden face.

"Oh?" the girl, who seemed to own a _hellhound_ , finally notices that she has drawn some attention. "This is Herbert! I wrote a letter to Santa one Christmas for a puppy and he answered!" She looks at North, who hastily lets got of his swords and try to look as unthreatening as possible. It was difficult. It bore repeating: _hellhound._

Then the sentence registers and they gape at North.

" _You_ sent a little girl a hellhound for Christmas?" Jack asks. His feet are firmly on the ground. He is not like certain people who stay on top of egg bots for safety.

North is indignant. "Of course not!" he says. "I did not receive a letter asking for a puppy from Sarah."

A nearby Yeti voices agreement. Jack wonders how that works. Do they all have a mental tally for all the children of the world? And how on earth do they recognize children on sight?

"We can always ask the Lord of the Dead," Tooth pipes up. She's still hovering two feet to the left away from the hellhound. "He's pretty friendly."

The words 'Lord of the Dead' and 'friendly' should not belong in the same sentence. Really. Jack had a headache. Pitch was _easier_ to deal with than this.

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* * *

The Lord of the Dead didn't look like the Lord of the Dead. His green eyes shone with unholy light and his skin is paler than anyone, even Jack. But the expression on his young face is friendly and open, (which somehow made the guarding skeletons clank and twitch. Jack wonders if they could be used to play fetch.) it makes him more approachable.

"Oh, the Guardians!" the Lord of the Dead says with that strange half-smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

To everyone's surprise, Sandy surges forward and starts popping symbols out of his hair like crazy.

Instead of being confused, the Lord of the Dead just nods, following along. He is so zen-like and calm that Jack wants to pelt him with snowballs. He refrains with effort. He is a professional, thank you.

"Oh, that letter!" the Lord of the Dead exclaims. "I certainly remember that!"

He gestures to the scantily dressed demon at the side and returns with a frame. Sandy takes one peek at it and starts quietly laughing.

"You framed the letter?" Bunny asks. For a person so scared of hellhounds, he's certainly brave enough to face its master.

"Aww, Harry," Tooth coos.

The Lord of the Dead, who is apparently named Harry, doesn't blush. (Maybe he didn't have the blood for it? Jack certainly finds it easier to lie when he can't blush.) However, he does cringe.

"It was the first letter I ever got!" he defends himself. "It felt special…I mean, it's probably due to a typographical error, but…"

North beams at Harry. "All letters are special. But first one more special, yes?"

When Harry nods, North ruffles his hair.

The frame finally makes its way to the intended recipient, Santa Claus. Jack hovers over North's shoulder and reads the large, scrawling handwriting.

The address itself explains why it got sent to the wrong address.

" _Dear Satan,_

 _Mumma saids I've been good. May I pleese have a puppi for ?_

 _Love, Sarah"_

Typographical error indeed, Jack thought through his chuckles. Still, it had been nice of him to give her a present even if it hadn't been his jurisdiction.

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 **All the rest are prompts in tumblr.**

 **Review please.**

 **~hallen**


	3. Chapter 3

**Tumblr Prompts:**

 **.**

* * *

 _ **When more children misspell Santa and Harry opens a toy factory full of sinister and funny goods, advised by George Weasley.**_

 **It actually went more like:**

"You want me to _what?_ " George asked, trying to wrap his head around it.

Harry didn't fidget. He pouted like a professional.

"Consultation fees are paid with demonic wishes sans the soul grabbing," Harry explained. "Every three months or so anyway, I can't spare my demons for more than that."

"Busy tempting people?" he had to ask. Morbid curiosity. What the hell did the Lord of the Dead do anyway?

Harry scowled darkly and the shadows in the room squirmed. George ignored it with practice. (Hey, his little brother's best friend was the Lord of the Dead. You get used to shadows being a little hyperactive every time he cracks a smile.)

"No," Harry said. "They're the laziest bastards. They have _labor unions_. Maternity Leave, Paternity Leave, Paid Vacation Leaves, Sick Leaves and Holy Water Leaves."

Knowing that he was digging himself in deeper, but unable to stop it, George asked, "Holy Water Leaves?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Apparently, being exorcised is very have to rest for a _week_." With another sigh, Harry turned those unholy eyes at him again. George steeled himself from the pouting.

"Please, George?" he asked.

Dammit.

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* * *

 ** _Where Santa notices how much less letters he gets, asks around, goes to the Underworld, sees how much more efficient they are working, and asks Harry if he could borrow the demons/skeletons._**

 **What he actually borrowed was:**

"You are stealing my children, Harry," the loud Russian man said. His face was jolly and smiling, but for the moment, he was stern. "This is not good business partnership! They are asking for darker gifts. It encourages chaos. Not good for the Naughty List. Already added three hundred more pages."

The Lord of the Dead, who actually liked going as Harry, smiled sheepishly at Santa Claus. "Sorry," he said. "But they keep writing me letters! How am I not supposed to reply if they write me?"

Nicholas frown softened a tad. "Is good control, yeah? Try saying no. Children should not always get what they want, especially when they have been naughty."

Syrena, eavesdropping a couple of feet behind her master, snorted.

"The Naughty ones get all the presents anyway," Harry continued reasonably. "My creations and my people don't like going near the really nice ones. I have no idea why. So I do say no, see?"

The large man rubbed at his temples. "You give me headache. Gah!"

As though to punctuate the statement, a skeleton building a steam train that ran on tears fell over with a sound very much like bowling pins. The Russian had accidentally kicked a rock golem into the skeleton.

"Why do they keep coming here?" an irate George Weasley asked, picking up the pieces of the skeleton and sticking them together. "It's not good for my temper. They keep stalling production rates and it's almost Christmas!" He waved a fibula bone to emphasize the point. "Doesn't he have work to do?"

Harry gestured with a hand and the skeleton reformed instantly. It yanked at it's misplaced fibula's viciously. George let it go with a laugh.

"He's Santa Claus. He's got Yeti's. They're infinitely more reliable than Skeleton Workers."

Syrena laughed at Harry. Which was why she was his assistant. She didn't hesitate to call him out on being ridiculous.

"Our workers are the bones of scientists and geniuses," she pointed out. "I bet he doesn't have half their imagination."

"And we have George Weasley," Harry mused, ignoring George's embarrassed blush.

Syrena's statement was proven true when Santa Claus came back again, three days before Christmas.

"May I borrow your George?" Nicholas asked. "We have teensy tiny problem. Nothing serious." That he was smoking and covered in soot had nothing to do with his request. At all.

He did his best to look so innocent that Harry allowed George to be dragged from his Workshop just for the amusement.

George took one look at the man's sad, large brown eyes and caved with a curse.

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 **George is a fluffy, gooey marshmallow of denial.**

 **Please review**

 **~hallen**


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